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Friday, August 14, 2015

The Missing Rock & Waiting for Drs to open my Esophagus

~Readers, this an old post~

Being kept up late at night with a stricture, which acts like a baby with colicky needs that needing tending which makes me start to think about Grandma.
Why?
Her death is still "settling" into my heart.

As I deal with my esophagus starting to close off again, I turned on some Alan Jackson to help pass the time. Good music is a good way to stave off the negative thinking, Readers.

Did you know that could happen so fast? Not listening to Al, but a stricture coming back super fast.
I thought I had 6-12 months if anything.

NOPE!
Back to swallowing like a stork trying to gag down a fish covered in sand and the stork is really, really dehydrated.

I had two weeks of bliss. Well, as much bliss as one who had been unable to swallow could have and with Crohns attacking the muscles and the motility of the esophagus. I actually started to heal and get out! It was awesome! And then it came back. The middle of my chest felt like I'd been pelted with a bullet.

I read about a poor toddler who had to have his esophagus dilated once a week! How sad for him and discouraging for his mom.

This pain radiates through the body into the back and into the wings of the ribs. Every breath is like sandpaper running across those soft tissues, organs, etc.

I can't have the Entyvio because my insurance needs me to be a "medical emergency." Don't blame them. It was a few thousand dollars a pop.

I also learned acid/GERD (that should go down as one of those dumb words like "crohns" in medical books.) can happen separately than the motility of your esophagus. So you can have TWO ways of your esophagus closing off!

Having Crohns camped out there truly is a joy. I didn't think this disease could get worse but it has surprised me again. And I thought I'd seen all this disease had to offer!

The good news is this: I have family who help me. And a library where I can learn. Friends to talk to with my now hoarse and changed voice. Yes, Readers, the acid from your stomach can ruin your vocal chords too.

For kicks I tried to sing to J. at Pillow Talk Time- it was the saddest thing you have ever heard. But it brought tears to my eyes because I am glad to be alive and I don't care if this dumb disease ruined and lowered my voice.

So to get my mind off dumb words, like GERD,

I was looking through pictures- parties, weddings, etc. with Grandma in them and then the latest there is Grandpa, looking like the Grandpa on Disney's "Up," because Grandma Mary Lu is not in them and I just got teary.

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﻿Alan Jackson has a song called:' Remember When.' And there are a few lines that say:

I don't think that my grandparent's relationship was much different than your grandparents, Readers. What may set it apart from some was that they stayed together. Today there are a lot of divorces. And at the end they took care of each other,

And us.

That's why we always ended up over there- for

home made bread and jam.

One night Grandma was fidgety- I asked what I could help her do or if she was uncomfortable. Her answer: "I just need to be up doing what Grandma's do."

Both of them were getting hard of hearing toward the end and so they would talk loud. But hers was like a little mouse trying to holler what she needed.

And grandpa would forget. You could imagine the circus that would ensue.

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They would get impatient with each other. It wasn't perfect. That's what made it memorable; the imperfection that could be overcome and love would outlast.

My grandpa said it was an "honor" to take care of her toward the end. He wanted her there, at home and not in a nursing home or hospital for those last few breaths.

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That meant getting up a couple times in the night to help her to the bathroom.

He said he didn't mind because he had to go himself so he might as well help her.

He worked hard his whole life. Since he was 12. His own Dad died of Scarlett fever and he became the man of the house. It was hard. His three paper route dollars went to the family support while his mom worked at the Dole cannery in Preston, Idaho.

Sure, he worked holidays; didn't take many vacations but all that saving and scrimping meant that he could care for her the last 15 years with her Parkinsons. I think he even worked on their wedding day. They got married, he went to his shift and then came home.

Work was something that he took great pride in. He's done it a long time. I have memories of being a young girl watching him clean his cars in the driveway with such detail. Using a chamois to get it completely dry.

He took pride in driving and keeping up a nice car. My grandparents were sealed in the Idaho Falls temple after my mission- heck, I'd given up thinking they ever would. But they did. (I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.)

So "little feet" is "the music" (another line from Alan's song) that we now hear at my mom's when the grandkids come over and

the disassembling and re-arranging has been taking place in our lives. And it's good. We love the little ones that have come our homes.

But all that moving around and undoing of certain traditions with certain loved ones is hard. The ones taking the place of the older ones that have left us are characters and make it all worth it.

And sometimes drinking a Cold Coca~Cola with ice cubes made by Padre

(he has some special recipe cause no one can make a better glass of Coke or mug of water than he can.)